


A Lark Astray

by dwyndling



Series: chi [8]
Category: Kingdom Hearts
Genre: Canon Compliant, Gen, Keyblade Wielders (Kingdom Hearts), Keyblade-centric, Keyblades (Kingdom Hearts), Missing Ache (Keyblade), Wayward Wind (Keyblade)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-20
Updated: 2020-01-20
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:09:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22196815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dwyndling/pseuds/dwyndling
Summary: Something gently hovering, ever just out of reach. A whisper, when no one is there.
Series: chi [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1583548
Kudos: 25





	A Lark Astray

_Dawn is a gentle embrace, resting over him like a companion. He is alone, as usual, but it is nice to sit on the hill and let the kindly wind ruffle his hair like a caress. Mornings like this are common, without a party or any strong connections in his Union, most of his mornings pass in this fashion._

_The wind whispers kindly, in the ears of a lonely little boy._

_He is a keyblade wielder, one of many, of the many that live and train in Daybreak Town. The keyblade model he uses is deep black and green, rather like ivy, or perhaps a pale blue flower growing from black branches._

_It is a peaceful life...for the most part._

_The girl in the fox mask tells him he’s been selected for something more, plucked from total obscurity to something heavy with the weight of responsibility. Things happen in quick succession after that, and the young boy’s dreams now are painted with faces that he will never see again, even if he had never called them ‘friends’._

_And then..._

He has a (new) keyblade now, one well suited to his way of fighting with it. It curves nicely in his hold, not too heavy, but sturdy enough to withstand the sands of time.

_Wayward Wind. A little breeze, caught up in a storm._

His new master bears little to no similarities as the master he had once pledged Union to. It is a grueling training that he is subjected to, and at night, his dreams still flash with faces he no longer knows the name to. 

_There is a boy a little taller than him, with white hair and a kind smile. A girl, with quiet brown eyes and glittery stars at her ears. A young man with hair the color of faded rose petals, and another with a confident twinkle in his dark eyes._

It would not be incorrect to say he prefers the confusing empty nature of dreams to his waking routine. Master Xehanort is not what you would call considerate, but he manages under his tutelage. 

...for the most part.

And then...one day, there is a pain like a burst of diamond fragments, splintering in the deepest recesses of his being.

All is lost to oblivion.

A bright young voice like a wind chime calls out, and Ventus finds himself bathed in a warm light, a spark of sentience flickering on even as the numbness of pain threatened to drown it out.

_Keys...hearts...._

There is a boy, with stoic blue eyes and calloused hands. There is a girl, with hair like a cornflower and a strong arms. Their voices mingle together softly, and to the wreckage and disassembly of what was once a boy called ‘Ventus’, it is a comforting sound.

That same warm glow that has been carried within him for more years than he knows is quiet. It persists, but refuses to reveal itself. Not yet...the time is not yet ripe.

And then, sometime around the second, or perhaps the third year, a keyblade flickers into his hand once more.

_Wayward Wind. You’re still you...the person you were before can still be reached._

Master Eraqus is not like Master Xehanort. They are fundamentally different on several levels, but the training is no less intense, although the only thing to tell him of this is the faint deja vu when Eraqus sharply tells him to correct his posture on his blocking. Terra and Aqua are constantly pushing each other to be better, and he finds himself swept up in their task alongside them, and he reacquaints himself with the keyblade more and more each day. Or perhaps, it’s the other way around.

To be a keyblade master...could someone as small and insignificant as him ever attain such an illustrious title? Someone with no memories...no home beyond the manor house in the Land of Departure...could someone like that ever be a hero?

Well. Being a hero is more of Terra’s thing, really. Ventus just wants to stay with his friends, and maybe, make even more one day.

It resonates deeply, in ways he can’t describe. The weight of the keyblade in his hand is accompanied by faint waves of crushing loneliness...something he can’t even recall experiencing. As though...it is using the keyblade itself that reminds him of something he can’t quite remember. 

Who could have time to experience such loneliness around here? Not where Terra is always down for a quick spar, and Aqua always willing to divulge the contents of whatever treatise she’s studying lately. Even Master Eraqus is willing to come out of his office to see whatever trick Ventus has managed to teach himself most recently. 

It’s remarked upon with awe, that he’s able to self-teach that level of skill in such a way. The master hums contemplatively, and theorizes aloud that he must have been taught such things before. He just shrugs helplessly, unable to contribute either way to such an idea. 

_The past...what secrets does it hide?_

It weighs upon him slightly, as Terra and Aqua’s Mark of Mastery exam creeps ever closer. Will he ever take such an illustrious task? Will he ever be ready…?

No matter. Who has time to reminisce on the ephemeral past when Aqua is calling down the hallway for everyone to come try her new Muffin Surprise?

He never thinks to wonder if this will be the last time he ever tries Aqua’s baking. Why on earth would such a thought ever cross his mind?

A meteor shower...what a novelty! It’s a calm and sacred memory, something that nestles close to his heart as his life unravels before his eyes faster than he could ever have imagined. 

The Unversed are another novelty, but in a very different way. It rings with deja vu, when Wayward Wind slices through the creatures with vengeance. 

_Unversed? Shouldn’t it be Hea_

The past begins to reveal itself, albeit in ways and with realizations that he does not appreciate. Terra seems like a slightly different person now, even as he stubbornly insists to himself that his best friend is still in there. Aqua too feels more like a stranger, and what was once in harmony now seems to have fallen into disarray. 

It’s all so painfully _familiar.._.that he can’t quite shake the feeling that he knows how this story ends. The denial of such a fate that rises up within him is a mighty power in it’s own right...something fierce and untempered by time. His hand twitches for his weapon.

Stars fall. Darkness rises in their place.

He can’t defeat the masked boy. _Is every battle he fights in destined to fail?_ Awareness, such a sweet prize, now falls from his grasp. His keyblade vanishes into the recesses of his heart, bereft.

The bright little voice echoes through his chest again. He needs...rest...everything will make sense after that.

Slumber...darkness...ephemerality...fate…a clocktower, that you could see from the hill. A golden house, glistening in the valley between the mountains.

_A bright eyed boy, wielding a gold and silver key. Friends...enemies...darkness. The rush of battle, the thrill of victory. Pain, separation, division, denial._

Sleep.

_Time...pain...Ventus...Vanitas…_

_...Aqua…?_

The bright voice is so much closer now, older, and somewhat weary. He reaches out with his heart, desperate to arise, now that the spark of life is so close to flickering awake again, where it belongs.

He screams Aqua’s name, and Wayward Wind flies to his hand in the same instant.

...and that is only the beginning of the battle. The key feels more like his own than it ever has, the person he has been for a decade now, caught up in nothingness, preserved in eternal youth. Terra is back by their side where he belongs, Master Xehanort is finally brought to his knees, and even Master Eraqus is there for a moment in time, with words none of them wanted, but needed to hear. 

The bright voice fades away, and the imprint left on Ventus’s heart from it hurts like a bruise. The small cat creature that had been snuffling round the back of the house looks at him with a knowing gaze, and gives him it’s best approximation of a sad smile.

Something tugs at the back of his mind, gently hovering. What is it that he’s forgetting? Who’s faces still tug at remorse in his dreams? Why does his keyblade, his only keyblade, remind him so much of something that he just can’t place?

Chirithy looks at him with odd resignation. The creases on that plush face are more adorable than worrisome, but something spikes in the backbone of his heart. 

That expression is... _familiar._


End file.
